Bucky's Gran Torino broke down out on the interstate and was stripped and left wafting on four rusty tire jacks seventeen miles past the old Rest Area. And now this . . .
She looked as good and old as her silver Series III XKE. She stayed at the beach two summers past her prime. The dogs on the beach would turn and squint their eyes at here when she walked by. Not everything was as bright as the sun this year. A few things were, but not everything.
She headed up the nonfiction department in a 1200 square foot office for a somewhat marginal publishing company. The writers she could handle. The editors were her karmic debt.